


Framed

by peggin



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggin/pseuds/peggin
Summary: A Matisse is stolen from the Met -- Peter has one suspect. (A sequel toHold On, I'm Coming)





	1. Chapter 1

Three months after returning from Paris, Peter was starting to get a little anxious where Neal was concerned. Neal still hadn’t settled on what he wanted to do with his life. He’d consulted with Jones on a couple of cases for the FBI, but he didn’t have any steady job, and Peter was afraid Neal was starting to get bored. And a bored Neal was one of Peter’s worst nightmares.

Peter tried to put those thoughts aside and turned to the pile of case files in front of him. He didn’t work active investigations anymore, but he still reviewed all the files his case agents were working on.

He came across a file about a Matisse that had been stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art the previous night. The thief had tripped the security system, but had somehow managed to get away clean. There were currently no leads, but the investigation was ongoing. Something about the file sent an alarm off in Peter’s mind, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He decided to put the file aside and come back to it later.

Three files further down in the pile, he was perusing the file for a potential mortgage fraud case, when a line about a bug in someone’s phone captured his attention. Something about that combination of mortgage fraud and a bug had him shoving the file aside and reaching for the file about the Matisse.

He looked through the file even more carefully than he had previously, trying to figure out what it was about this case that was bothering him so much, when he came to the crime scene photos. They didn’t reveal much. It was basically an empty space on the wall… right near the fire exit.

A very clear memory came to Peter’s mind. They were investigating a federal judge on another mortgage fraud case and they’d just discovered OPR had planted bugs in Peter’s home. Neal was covering the fact that they’d discovered the bug by making what probably passed for small talk in Neal’s world. _“I love the Met,”_ Neal had said. _“They have this fantastic Matisse I've always admired. It's on the second floor, right near the fire exit.”_

“Dammit, Neal,” Peter said to himself as he grabbed his suit jacket and headed out the door.

********

Neal studied the painting in front of him, trying to decide what was still missing. He just started to mix a slightly deeper shade of blue than the one he’d been using when his door opened and Peter burst through.

“Hi, Peter,” Neal said, with a bit of a confused frown on his face, “feel free to just let yourself in.”

Neal watched as Peter seemed to search the room with his eyes before turning back to Neal and asking, “What are you doing?”

Neal frowned at Peter again and said, “Is this a trick question?” before turning back to his easel and dabbing a little more blue on the canvas.

Peter took a deep breath before responding. “Who are you ripping off now? I don’t recognize the artist.”

Neal smiled a little bashfully. He hadn’t been ready for anyone to see this yet. “Nobody. It’s not a copy.”

Whatever was bothering Peter seemed to… maybe not entirely disappear, but fade into the background. “Are you telling me that’s a Neal Caffrey original?”

“Yeah,” Neal nodded and turned back to study his painting. “It’s the view from the 103rd story of the Empire State Building.”

“And you just did that from memory?”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “I know it’s not that great, but I just really wanted to paint it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Neal. It is great… it’s amazing.”

“Eh,” Neal said, waving his hand dismissively before turning back to Peter. “So, what has you barging through my door today?”

Peter’s voice turned harder. “A Matisse went missing from the Met last night.”

Neal felt his whole body tense, though he did his best to hide it. He knew, from Peter’s tone of voice, exactly where this conversation was headed, and he didn’t like it. “A Matisse, you say?”

“Yes,” Peter said, “A Matisse. Hanging right near the fire exit.”

“Smart,” Neal said. “Easy access to an escape route.”

“Yeah, the thief tripped the security system, but managed to get away clean.”

Neal put on his best poker face. “Any leads on who took it?”

“Just one, so far,” Peter replied.

“Oh?” Neal asked.

“Where were you last night, Neal?”

Neal put down his paintbrush and turned to fully face Peter. “Here. Working on this.” He gestured towards his painting. “And before you bother to ask, June went out to dinner with Cindy last night. She didn't get home until after midnight, and I didn’t have any visitors.”

“I remember you telling me you admired that particular Matisse,” Peter said. “Although I was never sure if you admired the painting or it’s proximity to the fire exit.”

Neal shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know whether I’m more offended by the fact that you think I took it, or by the fact that you think I would have tripped the security system.”

“Neal!” Peter almost shouted.

“I didn’t do it, Peter!” Neal insisted. “I made you a promise -- you gave me a second chance at life, and I’m not going to screw that up.”

Peter shook his head, his voice still very angry as he said. “I wish I could believe you.”

Neal’s voice was much sadder, almost wistful, as he replied, “So do I.”

Peter shot him a look that seemed to be angry, skeptical and maybe a little apologetic all at once. “I’m going to find out who did it.” He said, then he turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal made the comment about the Matisse at the Met in episode 1X09-Bad Judgement


	2. Chapter 2

Peter spent the entire afternoon with only half his mind on his work, the other half trying to decide what to do about Neal. He wanted to believe that Neal was telling him the truth, but Neal’s own history made it difficult. Especially when the missing object was something Neal had once all but admitted he’d considered stealing.

Still, Peter didn’t want to put Neal’s name in any official report as a suspect, not until he had more information. He needed to get someone to look into Neal’s recent activity.

He immediately dismissed Jones from his list of choices -- Jones would probably be the best one for the job, if it wasn’t for the fact that Neal knew him well and would notice him immediately if he suddenly started appearing everywhere Neal went. After carefully considering his choices, he decided to call one of their newer agents, Lisa Glass, into his office. He gave her a few simple instructions -- follow Caffrey around for a few days, see what he was up to, report only to ASAC Burke, and don’t put anything in writing until or unless Burke instructed her to. 

Peter was honestly hoping that, after a few days, Glass would report that she hadn’t seen anything unusual. Unfortunately, you don’t always get what you hope for.

The second morning after he’d given her the assignment, she came to his office at 9AM and said, “I think I have something, sir.”

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Close the door and have a seat.”

“Last night, Caffrey met a woman at the bar at the Chatwal Hotel. He gave her an envelope and she handed him a box.” Glass took out her phone and, after a few seconds of searching for something on it, handed it to Peter.

Peter wished he could have been surprised by the face he saw in the picture. Alex Hunter. Who else would Neal go to if he was trying to fence a stolen painting?

But something didn’t add up.

“She handed him a box?” Peter asked. “Not the other way around?”

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” Glass replied.

“Okay, thank you,” Peter said. “I’ll take it from here. You can get back to working on the Shapiro mortgage fraud case.”

After Glass left his office, Peter spent most of the rest of the day trying to decide what to do next. By the time 6PM rolled around, he decided that, if he still wanted to protect Neal until he was convinced Neal was guilty, the only thing he could do was go and talk to him again.

********

When Peter burst through Neal’s door for the second time in just a few days, Neal was more hurt over the proof that Peter still couldn’t trust him than he was annoyed.

“What was in the box, Neal?”

“Box?” Neal asked.

“The box you got from Alex last night.”

Now Neal was annoyed. “Are you having me followed?”

“Just answer the question,” Peter insisted. Without waiting for an answer, Peter went over to Neal’s bedroom area, opened the hinged painting on the wall, and took out the box he found inside.

“Peter, that is not--”

“Well, what do we have here,” Peter said, opening the box.

“That is not what it looks like,” Neal insisted.

“Really?” Peter asked. “Because it looks like a Fabergé egg. Stolen, I presume?”

“It’s not--” Neal started to say, then stopped himself, because it wouldn’t have been entirely true. “Well, okay, yes, technically it is stolen, but I didn’t steal it.”

“It’s still possession of stolen property. You really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“It’s not like that, Peter!” Neal protested. “It’s for Sara!”

At that Peter turned and looked at Neal. His expression was still pretty skeptical, and there was definitely not very much trust in his eyes, but it appeared that he was at least willing to listen. “For Sara?” he asked.

“Yes!” Neal said. “She’s been looking for it for a while. I told her I’d check with some of my contacts, see if I could come up with any leads.”

“Well, you found a hell of a lead,” Peter said, lifting the box in the air.

“Be careful with that!” Neal took the box out of Peter’s hands and put it back in the wall. “Do you have any idea how much that’s worth?”

Peter just glared at him for a moment before taking out his phone and saying, “If I were to call Sara right now, she’d tell me the same story?”

“Yes.” Neal said. “Go ahead, call her.”

After several long seconds of watching Neal's reaction, Peter put his phone away. “Okay, maybe I was rushing to judgment.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotten used to it,” Neal said. He pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t do that once in a while.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sat down across the table from Neal.

“So,” Neal said, after a few moments of silence. “Do you want a beer?”

Peter smiled, “Sure, that would be great.”

While Neal was getting the beer for Peter and pouring a glass of wine for himself, he heard Peter get up from the table.

“I don’t recognize any of these,” Peter said.

Neal turned and saw him standing in front of the paintings he had stacked against the wall.

“Are these all Neal Caffrey originals?” Peter asked.

Neal shrugged. “Ever since I’ve been back, I’ve found myself wanting to paint all the things I’d missed most about New York when I was away.”

“These are really good, Neal,” Peter said. “I bet, if you got Elizabeth to ask around for you, there’d be more than one gallery interested in showing them.”

“Do you really think so?” Neal asked. “I don’t think they’re that good.”

Peter shrugged. “I know enough about the art world to know that a lot of art is sold more on the artist’s reputation than on the quality of the art itself. With your reputation, I bet there would be a lot of people interested in a Neal Caffrey, even if they were only mediocre. And these are a lot better than mediocre.”

Peter pulled the first couple of paintings away from the wall to see the paintings behind them. “Rockefeller Center, Times Square, Central Park...” He flipped one more painting and then stopped.

“Is that the one of St. Patrick’s Cathedral?” Neal asked. “I know that one is definitely not one of my best.”

“No,” Peter said. “It’s not St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

“What is it, then?” Neal asked.

Peter turned to him, a puzzled expression on his face. “I think I just found my missing Matisse.”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter’s first impulse when he saw the Matisse hiding among Neal’s paintings was to turn to Neal and start yelling. He did turn, but then he paused and took a really good look at Neal. And realized, this was not a Neal who in any way felt threatened or felt like he had something to hide.

There might not be any other person on the planet who would be able to tell the difference, but Peter could. When Neal felt threatened, he held himself in a certain way. His whole body tensed, but pretending not to be, his face guarded. The Neal sitting at the table was relaxed and unguarded -- he had no idea Peter was about to uncover evidence implicating him in a crime.

“Is that the one of St. Patrick’s Cathedral?” Neal asked. “I know that one is definitely not one of my best.”

“No,” Peter said. “It’s not St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

Call it great deductive skills, call it years of experience in studying Neal Caffrey, call it a leap of faith, but despite the fact that the stolen painting was sitting there right in front of him, Peter was suddenly convinced that Neal had been telling him the truth about the Matisse.

“What is it, then?” Neal asked.

Peter turned to him, not sure what was going on, but convinced someone was trying set Neal up. “I think I just found my missing Matisse.”

“What?” Neal got up and strode quickly over to where Peter was standing.

If Peter hadn’t already decided Neal was innocent, that would have done the trick. Not even Neal was a good enough con man to pull off a shocked expression quite that convincing.

“I don’t know how that got there,” Neal said, his voice taking on a desperate tone.

“I know,” Peter replied.

“Peter, I swear to you, I didn’t…” Neal began to plead, then stopped and said, “You know?”

“If you had taken it, you would have done a better job of hiding it,” Peter said. “And if you had hidden it here, you would have at least tried to stop me from looking through your paintings.”

“So, how did it get here?” Neal asked.

Peter pulled the Matisse out from behind the other paintings and put it on the dining room table. “I think someone’s trying to frame you.”

The words had no sooner left Peter’s mouth than they noticed flashing lights coming from outside the house.

“Peter?” Neal asked, clearly wondering if the new arrivals were there because of him.

“They aren’t with me,” Peter said. He took in the desperate expression on Neal’s face and made a decision. “Do you have somewhere you can hide this?”

Neal nodded. “Hidden compartment under the floorboards in the observation room.”

“God bless Byron,” Peter said with a smile and a shake of his head. He picked up the painting and handed it to Neal. “Go. Quickly.”

Less than a minute passed by the time the two men from the FBI Art Crimes division knocked on the door with their search warrant in hand, but it was enough. Neal had returned to the main room, and Neal and Peter were sitting at the dining room table, each sipping their drinks, acting for all the world like they were just two guys hanging out with nothing to hide.

Peter’s suspicions were raised when one of the agents went directly to Neal’s paintings and seemed surprised to find nothing of interest there. He breathed in a sigh of relief when the other agent returned from the back hallway and clearly had not discovered Byron’s hidden compartment.

He quickly realized his sigh of relief had been premature, when he saw the first agent discover the hinged painting next to Neal’s bed. The agent took out the Fabergé egg and seemed almost gleeful as he came over and began reciting, “Mr. Caffrey, you’re under arrest for possession of stolen property. You have the right to remain silent...”

As the agent continued reading Neal his Miranda rights, Peter took in Neal’s face, silently begging him to do something. There was nothing Peter could do to stop the arrest, but he knew someone who would be able to help clear Neal of the charges. He put his hand on Neal’s shoulder and said, “Just don’t say anything. And, for God’s sake, don’t do anything stupid. I’ll take care of this.”

The moment after the agents lead Neal out the door, Peter took out his phone and made a call to London.


	4. Chapter 4

Sara had just fallen asleep minutes earlier when her phone rang. She reached for it, a little annoyed, and answered it without looking at the display. “Whoever this is, you’d better have a damned good reason for calling at midnight.”

“I’m sorry to call so late, Sara, but I really need your help. Neal needs your help.”

Sara woke up fully and said, “Peter? What happened?”

“You asked Neal to help you find a Fabergé egg?”

“Yeah,” Sara said. “I spent six months looking for it and hadn’t been able to find any leads.”

“Well, Neal did a little more than asking around. He found the egg.”

“I know, he called me this morning and told me. That’s fantastic!”

“Not so fantastic,” Peter said. “Neal’s just been arrested for possession of stolen property.”

“Oh. No, definitely not fantastic.”

“I need you to tell me that Neal has a contract, authorizing him to recover the egg on behalf of Sterling Bosch.”

Sara smiled at the careful way Peter had just worded that comment. The fact is, her arrangement with Neal wasn’t nearly that formal. But she could make it formal, just like she’d done when Neal had “authenticated” the Raphael for Sterling Bosch.

“You know, Peter,” Sara replied, “I was supposed to fly into New York next week for a meeting with the board of directors. That’s also when I was planning to collect the egg. I’ll move my flight up to tomorrow, and I promise, I will not get on that plane without a copy of our contract with Neal.”

Sara ended the call with Peter and dialed her executive assistant. “Jessica? Sara. I’m sorry to call so late, but I need you to take care of something for me immediately...”

********

Peter knew there wasn’t much he could to for Neal until Sara arrived the next day with the contract, so he was trying to decide what his next move should be when he heard a ringing coming from his pocket. He reached for it and discovered Neal’s phone. “How the hell does he do that?” he muttered to himself, trying to figure out exactly when and how Neal had managed to slip his phone into Peter’s pocket. He opened the phone and hit the “talk” button.

“I was right about Alex, wasn’t I? She knew where to get the egg,” came the voice from the other end of the phone.

“Hello, Mozzie,” Peter said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Suit?” Mozzie said. “Where’s Neal?”

“Neal is…” Peter started, then he paused as an idea occurred to him. “Neal needs help, and I think you might be just the criminal for the job.”

“What do you need?”

“Meet me at Neal’s place and I’ll explain,” Peter said, before ending the phone call.

********

After hanging up with Mozzie, Peter called Diana, who was still the best person he knew to conduct any kind of covert research. He asked her to check and see if anyone had been accessing the files OPR had made on him a few years back, especially the files related to the bugs that had been planted in his home.

Peter then spent the next 20 minutes in the observation room, trying and failing to find the hidden compartment in the floor. He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that. On the one hand, he was glad to know that, if the Art Crimes agents came back for another look, it was unlikely they’d be able to find the hidden Matisse. On the other hand, Peter really wanted to get the painting out of Neal’s apartment and back to the Met where it belonged.

“Suit? Where are you?” Mozzie’s voice called out from the main room.

“Back here. Observation room,” Peter replied.

When Mozzie entered the small room, Peter didn’t waste any time. “Do you know how to open the hidden compartment in the floor?”

Mozzie took a step backwards and looked at him warily. “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.”

Peter glared at him, “That means yes. Open it.”

Mozzie continued to look at him with that same guarded expression, but after a moment he sighed and went over to the built-in drawers along one wall. He opened and closed the bottom drawer, then the top drawer, then opened the middle drawer and appeared to flip a switch somewhere inside. A compartment in the floor that Peter never would have noticed opened up, revealing the Matisse inside.

“Is that the Matisse from the Met?” Mozzie asked, his voice practically oozing admiration. “Neal never told me he was back in the game.”

“He’s not,” Peter replied. “But someone is trying to make it look like he is. A couple of Art Crimes boys were here looking for it less than an hour ago.”

“I’m guessing this is what Neal needs my help with,” Mozzie said.

“If you want to make sure Neal doesn’t spend the next 25 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, yes.”

“What do you need me to do?” Mozzie asked.

Peter made a demonstration of removing his badge and putting it down on a shelf, then pointed at the painting. “If that Matisse were to somehow find it’s way back to the Met -- hanging back up on the wall, in the restoration room, hell, sitting on the curator’s desk -- I won’t ask any questions about how it got there.”

“Ah!” Mozzie smiled slyly and nodded.

“But, Mozzie,” Peter continued. “If it doesn’t show up back at the Met, Neal is still a suspect. And if someone was willing to go so far as to plant the painting in his apartment, who knows what other evidence they might uncover pinning the theft on him. So, if you’re really his friend--”

“Don’t worry, Peter. I would never do anything to hurt Neal,” Mozzie said. "By tomorrow, the Met will be reporting that they found their missing Matisse.”


	5. Chapter 5

Neal did his best to follow Peter’s instructions to not say anything or do anything stupid. Well, mostly. Sitting in the backseat of the FBI agent’s car with his hands cuffed behind his back wasn’t terribly comfortable. When the agent pulled into the parking lot at the FBI offices and opened the back door to see Neal sitting there with his hands cuffed neatly in front of him, the agent may have quietly muttered something to himself about how he was sure he’d cuffed Neal’s hands behind his back. But Neal figured, since he was still cuffed, it didn’t technically count as doing something stupid.

Listening to Peter’s instruction to not say anything was a little harder for him, especially when he was brought to the interrogation room and found his old nemesis, Agent Philip Kramer, sitting across the table from him. 

The man was positively gloating, saying, “I always knew this day would come, leopards don’t change their spots.”

Neal really wanted to give Kramer a piece of his mind, but he only responded, “I’m not speaking to anyone but Agent Peter Burke.”

“I’d think you’d want to talk to me, Caffrey.” Kramer replied. “Surely 25 years on an anklet working for the FBI is a better deal than 25 years in Sing Sing. Which is what you’re looking at if you refuse to cooperate.”

Neal swallowed his impulse to say something snarky in reply and merely repeated, “I’m not speaking to anyone but Peter.”

Kramer spent another 15 minutes trying to get Neal to talk, but Neal kept responding in the same way. Eventually, Kramer got frustrated and had his agents take Neal to lockdown, where they informed him he was going to be held for 48 hours until he could be arraigned.

If Neal spent a few minutes examining the cell, determining that it was hardly a SuperMax facility and that he could get out of it and past the guard with very little effort... well, thinking about it didn’t count as doing anything stupid, did it?

Neal sighed and went to sit down on the cot against the rear wall of the cell, preparing to settle in for the night. Peter had promised he would take care of it, and even if all of Neal’s natural instincts were telling him he should run, ultimately he trusted Peter. Neal decided to wait it out until he knew what Peter was planning.

********

Peter was just finishing shaving the following morning when his phone rang. He looked at the display then answered, “Hey, Diana, did you find anything?”

“Yeah, I did,” Diana replied. “About three months ago, there was a single login that accessed the files on the old OPR investigation on you.”

“Three months ago?” Peter asked. “Right around the time Neal came back from the dead?”

“Just about a week after you brought Neal home,” Diana agreed.

“Who accessed the file?”

“Philip Kramer,” Diana replied.

Peter was more sad than surprised. As hard as Kramer had gone after Neal a few years back, Peter might have been more surprised if Kramer had never made a second attempt. “So, Kramer heard the recording. He knew Neal had once told me he admired that missing Matisse.”

“I’m guessing yes,” Diana said. “But there’s more. He’s had Neal under covert surveillance for a couple of months now. He’s been watching his every move.”

“Phil was always convinced, once a con man, always a con man,” Peter said. “He probably assumed, if he just watched Neal long enough, he’d be able to nab him on something eventually, and slap that anklet back on him.”

“Well, I think he got tired of waiting. Kramer and two of his agents have been occupying temporary offices on the 12th floor of your building since late last week.”

"Before the Matisse disappeared?” Peter asked.

“That’s right, Boss,” Diana agreed.

“He’s been in the building all week and never even stopped by to say ‘Hello.’”

“You’d almost think he didn’t want you to know he was in town,” Diana said.

“I’m going to have to stop by and see Phil this morning,” Peter said. “I just hope I’m there in time to see his face when he hears the news.”

“What news?” Diana asked.

Peter smiled. “By the time the Met opens this morning, I have good reason to believe they’re going to be releasing a statement that they found the missing Matisse somewhere in their building. The painting was never stolen at all.”

Peter could hear the smile in Diana’s voice as she replied, “I’m sure Agent Kramer will be thrilled to discover that it was all a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly the reaction I’m expecting,” Peter agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

“Morning, hon,” Elizabeth said as she heard Peter coming down the stairs.

“Hey, hon,” Peter replied. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Just putting some last minute touches on the bridal shower brunch I’m throwing on Saturday,” Elizabeth said. "You know, it’s my first Burke Premier Events party since my maternity leave, and I want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“Do you need to be home to take care of everything?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “As long as I’ve got my phone and my laptop, I can do it from anywhere. Why?”

“Sara’s flight lands at Newark at ten thirty,” Peter said. “I’ve sent Agent Glass to pick her up and bring her directly to the District Attorney. Once Sara shows him the contract proving Neal had the legal right to be in possession of that Fabergé egg, they won’t have anything to hold him on anymore. They’ll have to let him go. I figure he should be out by around one o’clock.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Elizabeth replied.

“I’d like you to be there when they release him. Take him back to his place, let him pack up whatever he’s going to need for the next few days, and bring him back here. I want him to stay with us for a little while.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You want to keep a close eye on him. You’re afraid he’s going to do something stupid.”

“No,” Peter shook his head, then smiled wryly and said, “Well, yes, always, but that’s not the reason. Until I can figure out what Kramer has planned next and come up with a way to stop him, I want to make sure Neal has an airtight alibi for every minute of his time.”

Elizabeth cupped Peter’s cheeks and kissed him. “You are a good man, Peter Burke,” she said, then gestured toward her son, who was sitting in his highchair. “Neal and I will be happy to babysit.”

Peter went over and lifted his son from his highchair and said, “Hey, buddy, you be a good boy today, okay? Don’t go picking up any of Uncle Neal’s bad habits.” Then he kissed the baby on the cheek and put him back in the highchair, before giving Elizabeth another kiss and heading out the door.

********

Peter smiled when the article popped up on his cell phone. “Way to go, Mozzie,” he quietly said to himself, as he waited for the elevator to let him out on the twelfth floor.

“Hey, Phil, I heard you were in town. Why didn’t you stop by and say hello?” Peter asked, doing his best to act friendly and cheerful.

“Hi, Petey,” Kramer replied, only looking up briefly before turning back to his laptop. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. We didn’t exactly leave things on good terms the last time I was here.”

“Well, if you’re in town about the Matisse that went missing from the Met, it turns out you wasted a trip.” 

Kramer’s head snapped back up. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you see the article in the Post? It was all a big mistake. The found the painting in their restoration room.”

Peter watched as Kramer pulled up the article on his laptop, and smiled as the headline, “Oops!” splashed across the screen.

It was almost satisfying, watching Kramer’s face turn red and hearing the anger in his voice as he went to his office door and yelled “Vasquez! Get in here!” to a man Peter recognized as the Art Crimes agent who’d found the Fabergé egg at Neal’s apartment.

But not quite satisfying enough, “I have more good news, too, Phil. It turns out, Neal was acting as an agent for Sterling Bosch when he recovered that Fabergé egg your boy found in his apartment. Sara Ellis flew in this morning with the contract. So, Neal wasn’t actually in possession of stolen property. Any minute now, the district attorney should be dropping all charges against Neal and ordering his release. Probably give him a pretty heartfelt apology for the misunderstanding, too.”

Peter did kind of enjoy watching Kramer’s face turn an even deeper shade of red.

“You’re covering for him, aren’t you?” Kramer accused. “I know you think he’s your friend, but he’s a criminal, Petey. A con man. And he’s got you conned but good.”

Peter knew that wasn’t true, but what was he supposed to say? That Neal hadn’t hesitated before handing over a (stolen) ring worth $2.5 million to save Peter’s life? That Neal had given up a (stolen) treasure worth at least a billion dollars to save Elizabeth? That he’d committed several crimes for the sole reason that he was desperate to make sure Peter wasn’t indicted for a crime Neal’s father had committed?

Even if he could tell Kramer about those things, he knew Kramer would only see the criminal element of each act, and not recognize the fact that nobody would have done even one of those things for a person he didn’t care about deeply. Peter didn’t always approve of Neal’s actions, but one thing he would never doubt is that Neal considered him a friend.

No, he couldn’t say any of those things to Kramer. Instead he settled for saying, “You need to have more faith in people, Phil,” before turning and walking out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

When Neal and Elizabeth exited the front door of the FBI building, Neal was still a little confused about what had just happened. Having a prosecutor actually apologize to him and shake his hand had been a surreal experience, and he wasn’t entirely sure why the charges had been dropped, but when he saw Sara Ellis standing there, he thought maybe he did know what had happened, after all.

Elizabeth said, “The car is just down the block. Why don’t you go talk to Sara while I go get it. Just make sure you stay with her until I pull up to the curb.”

“I don’t need constant supervision,” Neal said.

“I told you what Peter said,” Elizabeth replied. “He doesn’t know what Kramer is up to, but until he does, he doesn’t want to leave him with a window where you don’t have an alibi.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neal said. “Fine, I’ll stay with Sara until you get back.”

Neal watched as Elizabeth turned and headed down the street, pushing the stroller in front of her, before turning around and taking a few steps over to where Sara was waiting

“Sara,” Neal smiled. “I assume I have you to thank for my release?”

“Well, it’s not like I was doing you a favor, Caffrey,” Sara replied. “I couldn’t let you go to jail for possession of that Fabergé egg. The egg would have been held as evidence. It could have been months before I got it back.”

Neal laughed softly and nodded his head. “Of course.”

“No, I just needed to make sure the D.A. knew you were an independent contractor acting as a recovery agent for Sterling Bosch. Once I showed him your contract with us, and the list of all the items you’d recovered for us in the past year or so, he knew he had nothing to hold you on.”

“My contract, huh?” Neal said. “Funny, you’d think I’d remember signing a contract.”

Sara nodded. “It’s funny how these things can slip our minds.”

Neal paused briefly before getting a little more serious and saying, “It’s good to see you, Sara.”

Sara took his hand and squeezed, “It’s good to see you, too, Neal.”

“You’re going to be in town for a few days?”

“Until after my meeting with the board of directors next week,” Sara replied.

“Maybe we can have dinner?” Neal suggested.

“I’d like that,” Sara said, then she nodded in the direction of the street and said, “I think your ride’s here.”

Neal turned and saw Elizabeth there waiting for him, then turned back to Sara and said, “I’ll call you.”

“You better,” Sara said before turning and walking away.

********

“No, no, no, what am I going to do?”

Peter walked through the front door to find his son on a blanket on the floor banging some blocks together, Neal sitting on the sofa reading a book, and Elizabeth at the dining room table, clearly distressed over some news she’d just received.

“What’s wrong, hon?” Peter asked. He put his wallet and FBI badge on the coffee table took a seat on the couch next to Neal.

“My chef for the brunch I’m holding on Saturday was just in a car crash,” Elizabeth said. “He’ll be okay, but he won’t be able to cook for me. I don’t know where I’ll get someone else on a day and a half notice.”

Neal looked up from his book. “You know, Elizabeth, I make a pretty good prosciutto and Gruyere omelet.”

Peter turned to him, “Can’t you just say ham and cheese like a normal person?”

From the looks both Neal and Elizabeth gave him, Peter might have thought he’d just suggested they serve the champagne in paper cups.

Elizabeth turned to Neal and said, “Do you think you could make 50 of them?”

“No problem,” Neal said. “We used to do brunch for over 100 every Sunday at the restaurant in Paris.”

“Oh, my God, Neal, you are a real lifesaver. Let’s talk about the menu.”

As Neal got up and moved over to the dining room table, Peter glanced down at the coffee table and noticed his wallet was missing. “Did you just take my wallet?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Neal, holding both his hands up in front of him.

Peter glanced down at the floor and saw his son gnawing on his leather billfold.

He took the wallet out of his son’s hands and said, “Don’t take Daddy’s wallet!”

Neal laughed and said, “Good boy!”

Peter shook his head, “Don’t. Don’t encourage him. You are a bad influence.”

Just then, Peter got a text message. When he checked his phone, the sender was unidentified, and the message was simply a request for him to go out to the patio.

He stepped out on the patio and found Alex Hunter there waiting for him.

“I’ve never been a rat,” Alex said, “But this time, I’m making an exception. I think Neal is in trouble.”


	8. Chapter 8

Alex sat down. “Before I say anything, I want to make sure--”

“My badge is inside,” Peter said, sitting down across the table from her. “Anything you say to me right now, you’re saying to Neal’s friend, not to an FBI agent.”

“You’re familiar with the emeralds liberated from Midtown Jewelers two weeks ago?”

“Five million dollars worth of emeralds missing from their vault, and so far no leads,” Peter replied.

“Someone I’ve worked with before, a thief named Kayla Harris, contacted me a few days ago. Said she had acquired some emeralds and needed someone to help her move them.”

“And being a generous and kind-hearted fence, of course you agreed,” Peter said.

“Of course,” Alex said. “It’s my job.”

Peter shook his head and said, “Go on.”

“We were supposed to meet today, but Kayla never showed,” Alex said. “I tracked her down, and she told me the deal was off. I wanted to know why, and she told me an interesting story about an encounter she had with an FBI agent.”

“Did she get a name?” Peter asked.

“Kramer,” Alex said. “He nabbed her this afternoon. Told her they had her dead to rights on possession, and that they had enough evidence to get a guilty verdict on the theft, too. She was looking at a long stay in prison, but he told her there was one way he could make it all go away. She had to find a place to plant the emeralds in the guest room on the second floor of the house at 87 Riverside Drive.”

“Neal’s place,” Peter said.

“Neal’s place,” Alex agreed. “The address didn’t mean anything to her, but I recognized it right away.”

“I knew he wasn’t done,” Peter said.

“This Kramer guy has it in for Neal, doesn’t he?” Alex asked.

“He wants any excuse he can find to slap an anklet back on Neal and force him to work for FBI for the rest of his life,” Peter said. “The first time he went after Neal like this, at least he tried to stay within the confines of the law, but now it seems like he doesn’t care about that anymore.”

“The ends justify the means?”

“I’m sure that’s how Kramer is rationalizing all this to himself,” Peter agreed.

“So, how are you going to stop him?”

Peter smiled. “I don’t want to stop him. I want to arrange it so he has to plant the stones himself.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“I’m guessing Kramer didn’t let your friend Kayla hold on to the stones.”

“Good guess,” Alex agreed. “Kramer has them, he’s going to give them to her Saturday night, right before the job is supposed to go down.”

“Okay, good,” Peter nodded. “You tell Kayla, if she plants those stones, I’ll be there to stop her and she’ll be going away for a long time. But if she helps me get Kramer, I’ll make sure the prosecutor knows how helpful she was. It’s the best deal she’s ever going to get.”

“Okay,” Alex stood up, “I’ll tell her.”

When Alex turned to leave, Peter asked, “You don’t want to see Neal before you go?”

Alex shook her head. “Are you kidding me? After all the grief I gave him over turning Fed, the last thing I want is for Neal to know I just ratted someone out, even if it was to save his ass.”

Peter smiled. “I won’t tell him where I got the information.” Then he reached for his phone to make a few calls as he watched Alex disappear into the night.

********

The next morning, Clinton Jones and Lisa Glass entered Peter’s office and closed the door.

“How did it go?” Peter asked.

“Vasquez definitely saw the file on Kayla Harris,” Glass said. “He knows the NYPD have detained her as a person of interest in the Midtown Jewelers theft, so she won’t be able to plant the stones for Kramer.”

“And I had a nice talk with Kramer,” Jones said. “Told him how I thought you had lost your perspective when it came to Caffrey. Really played up the ‘once a criminal, always a criminal’ angle. I may have also mentioned that June is out of town for a few days, and let it slip that I didn’t approve of the fact that Neal’s staying with you until June gets back.”

“Leaving Neal’s apartment alone and empty, making it easy for just about anyone to get in there and plant the stones. No professional thief required.” Peter smiled. “And the cameras?”

Jones nodded. “By noon, there will be several hidden surveillance cameras in Neal’s apartment. Anyone shows up to plant evidence, we’ll have video of them in the act.”

“Good, good,” Peter said. “I guess that’ll do it for now. Thank you.”

Glass left the office, but Jones stayed behind and asked, “Are you okay with all this, Peter? I know Kramer was your mentor. You used to think of him as a friend.”

Peter shook his head. “Kramer didn’t just cross the line, he’s left it a few miles behind him. I can’t let him get away with that, especially not at the expense of ruining Neal’s life.”

“Oh, I agree,” Jones said. “He has to be stopped, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it.”

“Kramer once told me about a CI he used to work with, a guy he considered a friend,” Peter said. “He had to arrest the guy, and he told me how hard it was, slapping cuffs on a friend. At the time, when I imagined how I'd feel if I had to send Neal back to prison, I agreed. That would have been hard. But this? What Kramer’s doing? I suddenly think slapping cuffs on someone I used to consider a friend might be a very satisfying experience.”


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth finished her final check of the seating arrangements before looking at her watch. The guests were scheduled to arrive for the bridal shower in half an hour. She headed back to the banquet hall’s kitchen to check on Neal, and could tell immediately that he loved what he was doing.

“You really enjoy cooking, don’t you?” Elizabeth asked.

Neal nodded, but kept his focus on the scallions he was chopping. “I like creating things. Painting, sculpting, cooking, making something with my hands. Always have.”

“Do you miss the restaurant in Paris?”

“I do,” Neal responded. “But not nearly as much as I missed New York while I was over there.”

“Have you thought about opening a restaurant here?”

Neal laughed. “Yeah, I can see it now. Known criminal Neal Caffrey opens up a business that operates largely in cash. I’m sure I won’t have any problem with law enforcement harassing me and demanding to see my books on a regular basis.”

“Okay, so maybe owning the place would be a problem,” Elizabeth said. “But surely you could still get a job as a chef somewhere in the city.”

Neal looked up from his chopping and said, “What’s with the sudden interest in my career choices?”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Just curious.”

“And?” Neal asked.

Elizabeth smiled. “And, Peter gets a little nervous about the fact that you don’t have a regular job. He’s worried that you’re going to get bored and--”

“And fall back on old habits to relieve the boredom. I get it,” Neal nodded, then turned to the oven and checked on something inside. “I’ve been doing a lot of painting lately, so I haven’t been bored, but I could see myself getting tempted like that.”

“What happens when temptation comes along?” Elizabeth asked.

Neal shrugged. “I remind myself that I have a life here. I don’t want to go back to prison.” He looked up at Elizabeth and continued. “And I made a promise to Peter. I’m not going to let him down, Elizabeth. I’m not.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Elizabeth said. “And, there are other ways to relieve boredom. If the bridal shower goes as well as I’m hoping, I may request your culinary genius for a few other events I have coming up.”

Neal smiled, “I think I might love that.”

********

Peter had spent a good part of the last day thinking about his conversation with Jones. He had come to realize, as much as a part of him was itching to slap cuffs on Kramer for what he was trying to do to Neal, there was still a part of him that wanted to give his former mentor a chance to do the right thing and back off.

Even though it was Saturday, he wasn’t surprised to see Kramer sitting at his desk in the twelfth floor office.

“Petey,” Kramer said. “I’m surprised to see you back here again.”

“I don’t like the way we left things the other day,” Peter said. “I know we don’t agree about Caffrey, but we were friends for a long time before he became an issue. I want to try to find a way to get past this.”

“There is a way,” Kramer replied. “You can wake up and realize the man is a criminal. He could be a valuable asset to the FBI, but he needs to be monitored. Constantly. It was bad enough that you covered for him when he was your CI, but then you helped get him an early release from his sentence and immunity for his past bad acts.”

“He helped us bring down the Panthers. He earned it,” Peter said.

“He’s a loose cannon, who you’ve released into the world, free to return to his life of crime,” Kramer said.

“He’s been clean since his release,” Peter insisted.

“If you don’t count the fact that he faked his death and spent a year on the run,” Kramer replied.

“He knew the Panthers would come after him for what he did to them,” Peter said. “He knew they’d go after the people he cared about. He nearly died trying to make sure Woodford wouldn’t kill me.”

“Which is part of the reason why you can’t see clearly where he’s concerned,” Kramer said. “Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before he returns to his old ways, if he hasn’t already.”

“I don’t think so,” Peter said. “He gave me his word.”

“The word of a con man,” Kramer said. “Excuse me if I’m not impressed.”

Peter shook his head and sighed. “I know there’s no guarantee that Neal will be able to stay on the straight and narrow, but he’s earned the right to try. And if he does fall off the wagon, return to his old ways, I’ll cuff him for it myself. But until that happens, if anyone does anything to hurt him, to interfere with his chance to make a fresh start, they’ll have to answer to me.”

Kramer’s face seemed to lose a little color before he said, “Is that some kind of threat, Petey?”

“It’s a fact,” Peter replied, before turning and walking out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter was checking out Neal’s apartment, making sure everything was in place for the evening ahead of them, when Mozzie entered the apartment.

“What are you doing here? You need to leave,” Peter said.

“I just wanted to check on Neal,” Mozzie said. “I haven’t heard anything since I returned that Matisse to the Met.”

Peter was surprised. “That was a couple of days ago. You haven’t talked to Neal since then?”

Mozzie shook his head. “We don’t really talk a lot anymore. He calls once in a while, mostly when he’s trying to find something Sara is looking for, but other than that, we haven’t really spent much time together since he got back from Paris.”

“Really?” Peter asked. “Why?”

“His first week back in New York, I came by to see him,” Mozzie said. “He told me it was great to see me, but that things could never be like they were before. He said he can’t hang out with me anymore for all the same reasons an alcoholic who’s trying to quit needs to stop hanging out with friends who drink all the time. That as important as the friendship might be, staying sober matters more.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” Peter said, “because I know Neal’s friendship means a lot to you. But I’ve gotta say, if Neal is really that serious about trying to stay on the right side of the law, I can’t be sorry about that.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Mozzie said. “But, from the time I first found out Neal wasn’t dead, I guess a part of me knew, even if he ever found a way to come back to life, to come back to New York, things would never go back to the way they were.”

“Because of his promise to me?” Peter asked.

“More because of that last con he pulled,” Mozzie said.

Peter smiled. “Are you talking about the $23 million that we never found after the Panthers job?”

Mozzie just stood there and stared at him, until Peter sighed, took his badge out, and placed it on the table. He held up his hands and said, “Just talk, Mozzie.”

“You know, it was never about the money,” Mozzie said. “It was a con.”

“Why?” Peter asked. “Just to prove one last time that he could pull off some stunt right under my nose? Or to prove he could outsmart the Panthers?”

Mozzie gave Peter a look that left Peter feeling like he was an idiot. “Neal wasn’t conning you. He wasn’t conning the Panthers, either. He was conning me.”

That wasn’t an answer Peter was expecting. He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down at the dining room table. “What are you talking about?”

Mozzie sighed and sat down across from Peter. “I’d been pushing Neal to get me in with the Panthers. He wanted to keep me out. He knew me well. He knew, if he came up with a plan where we were going to be working together on the outside, outsmarting the world’s most notorious thieves, stealing something right out from under them, that I wouldn’t be able to resist pulling a con like that. It wasn’t until after he was already in Paris that I realized why he’d done it. It wasn’t about the money, it was about keeping me on the outside. He did it to protect me.”

Peter smiled and shook his head. That did sound like something Neal would do. “So, what happened to the money, Mozzie?”

Mozzie tilted his head to the side and said, “You don’t really expect me to answer that question, do you, Suit?”

Peter shrugged. “I understand that Neal needed cash to get out of the country and stay hidden, but there’s no way he used the whole $23 million. And these days, he’s not exactly living like a closet millionaire, but he doesn’t seem to be hurting for cash either. Does he still have it?”

Mozzie glanced at Peter’s badge, still sitting on the table, before answering. “Neal’s not hurting for cash because Sara’s set up an account for him; she made sure he got the recovery fee for all the items he’s retrieved for her over the past year. He only ever took a couple hundred thousand from the Federal Reserve job -- just enough so he’d be able to vanish. But it was never about the money for Neal.”

“So, you have the rest of it?” Peter asked.

Mozzie smiled and shrugged, “You’ll never find it, Suit.”

Peter shook his head, “No, unmarked cash that’s been missing for over a year? I don’t suppose I ever will.”

After a brief pause in the conversation, Mozzie asked, “So, the Matisse?”

“The Met found it in their restoration room,” Peter said. “They announced that there must have been some kind of error with the paperwork, that the painting had simply been misplaced, not stolen. Didn’t you see the stories in the paper?”

Mozzie scoffed. “Right, like I trust anything they print in the newspapers.”

“Well, trust this,” Peter said. “As far as the Met and the FBI are concerned, the painting was never stolen at all.”

“So, Neal is in the clear?” Mozzie asked. 

“For that, yes,” Peter replied. “But the guy who tried to frame Neal? He’s not done trying.”

“What can I do to help?” Mozzie asked.

“You can stay out of it,” Peter said. “Let me handle it.”

“But I could--”

“No, Mozzie. No,” Peter said. “Anything you try to do is only going to backfire and get Neal into even more trouble. Trust me. I will take care of it. Leave this up to me.”

Mozzie looked at Peter with a cautious, guarded expression for several long seconds before nodding his head and saying, "Just make sure nothing happens to him.”

“I will,” Peter said. “I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

Mozzie nodded his head once. “Good.” Then he got up from the table and walked out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

“Neal, whatever you’re thinking of doing, stop.”

“Come on, Peter, my apartment is just down the hall, I could go and--”

“Sit and be quiet,” Peter said, “If you’re bored, read a book. You’re not going anywhere. I want you somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Neal replied. “You want me to have an airtight alibi for every minute of my time until this is over.”

“That,” Peter said, “and I want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Neal gave Peter his very familiar “Who, me?” look, and Peter just rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer monitor in front of him.

“It was nice of June to let us set our equipment up in Byron’s study,” Agent Glass said.

“Yeah,” Jones said, “I’m sure she’s just thrilled about having three FBI agents staked out in her house.”

Peter shrugged. “She knows we’re doing it to help Neal. If we had the van outside, Kramer would spot it in a second. And this puts us much closer to Neal’s apartment, that’ll make it easier to catch him in the act.”

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” Jones said. “I hate the van. This is much nicer, and June’s coffee is to die for.”

“I could just go grab my sketch pad. My room is right down the hall,” Neal said.

It had been over a year since Peter had had to deal with Neal during a stakeout; he’d almost forgotten how annoying it could be. He looked at the monitor and made sure there was no sign of Kramer outside before turning back to Neal and saying, “You can find it without turning the lights on?”

Neal gave Peter another look, this one Peter recognized as Neal’s “Come on, who do you think you’re talking to” look.

Peter sighed and said, “Glass, keep an eye on him. Neal, if you’re not back in this room in two minutes, I’m going to drag you back here and handcuff you to the chair.”

Jones snorted. “Like that’d do any good.”

Neal smiled as he jumped out of his chair and headed out of the room, Glass following behind him.

“God, he drives me crazy,” Peter muttered. 

Jones smiled, “Don’t pretend like you don’t love having him back here.”

Peter had to admit, Jones was right. After a year of believing Neal was dead, he wouldn’t trade having Neal back in his life and driving him crazy for anything. “It’s like having a child,” Peter said.

“Yeah, you’ve got to face it, Peter, you have two sons, and they both have the same name,” Jones laughed.

Peter didn’t even try to deny it. “And the same emotional maturity level,” Peter agreed, and both men laughed again.

Neal and Glass reentered the room and closed the door behind them. “What’s so funny?” Neal asked.

“Nothing,” said Peter.

“You had to be here,” Jones added quickly.

Neal looked at them skeptically, but didn’t ask any more questions. He settled himself into a chair in the corner and began drawing on his sketch pad.

For the next 45 minutes, there was very little sound in the room, apart from a few occasions when one of the FBI agents commented as a car passed by outside and the quiet scritching of Neal’s pencil on the pad.

When the moment finally came, it was almost anticlimactic. Peter watched on the video monitor as a black SUV parked right in front of the house and Kramer got out. He sauntered up to the front door, and picked open the lock adeptly, if with less skill than Neal might have shown. One of the other cameras picked him up, going up the stairs, going down the hallway, and entering Neal’s apartment.

Peter signaled to Glass and Neal to stay where they were. When Neal seemed about to object, a simple glare from Peter had Neal sitting back in his chair and picking up his sketch pad again.

Peter and Jones silently made their way down the hallway and reached the door just in time to see Kramer open a wooden panel on the wall and insert a small package inside.

Peter flipped on the light switch. “I told you to back off, Phil. I gave you a chance to do the right thing.”

Kramer spun around quickly, and it was obvious he knew instantly that there was nothing he could say to explain away his actions. Instead, he tried to justify them. “I’m trying to protect you, Petey. Caffrey is a scorpion. You keep him in your life, one of these days, you’re going to get stung.”

“Caffrey’s a scorpion?” Peter asked, his eyebrows raised. “Caffrey’s not the one planting evidence and trying to incriminate someone.”

Peter turned to Jones, who asked, “Do you want to...?” he let the thought trail off as he gestured in Kramer’s direction.

Peter shook his head. “He’s all yours,” he said, then he turned and started walking back down the hallway, hearing Jones begin to recite, “Philip Kramer, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering, possession of stolen property, obstruction of justice...”

When Peter reentered Byron’s study, he sent Glass to assist Jones, then turned to Neal and said, “It’s over.”

Peter hadn’t even realized how tense Neal had been until he saw Neal relax at his words. He wasn’t sure if anyone else would be able to tell the difference, but it was obvious to Peter’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Neal said, then he scoffed. “Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’ve done so much for me. You gave me a life, you helped me get it back when I thought I’d lost it, and now you’ve helped me hold on to it when someone was trying to take it away.”

“That’s what friends do,” Peter said. “It’s what family does.”

Neal hung his head and said, “I know there’s no way I can ever repay you for everything you’ve done for me, but… here, I want you to have this. I know it’s not much...” Neal’s voice trailed off as he handed Peter the sketch pad he’d been working on all evening, then he put his hands in his pockets, his eyes still gazing at the floor.

It may have just been a pencil drawing, but the detail was so perfect it might have almost been a photograph. It was a picture of Peter and Elizabeth, sitting on their sofa, baby Neal sitting on Elizabeth’s lap.

“Neal, this is amazing,” Peter said.

Neal just shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and made a dismissive noise.

“How is it, you can look at art by just about every other artist on the planet and tell instantly just how much it’s worth, but you can’t tell just how good your own work is?” Peter asked.

Neal didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told Peter Neal wasn’t sure he believed him.

Peter shook his head. “Come on, let’s go home. Your apartment is a crime scene at the moment, so you’ll have to stay at our place for a little while longer. We can move you back in a few days, but we’re bringing El with us. I’m going to have her look at your work. I’m sure she’s going to want to arrange a gallery showing for you.”

Peter could tell Neal still wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t fighting him on it either. The two men left the house together and headed for home.

********

Two days later, Neal was back in his apartment. Kramer hadn’t fought the charges and had confessed to what he had done. Peter and Elizabeth had just dropped Neal off back at home and had left, but not until Elizabeth had all but bullied Neal into agreeing to allow her to show his work to her friends at the DeArmitt Gallery. He was just getting settled back into his apartment when someone knocked on his door.

“Sara,” he said. “This is a nice surprise. I thought we weren’t having dinner until tomorrow.”

“It turns out, I won’t be able to make it tomorrow,” Sara said. “I’m flying back to London on the red eye tonight.”

Neal tried his best to hide just how upset he was with this news. “Oh. Well, that’s disappointing. Any chance you’ll be back in New York any time soon?”

“Actually, there is,” Sara said. “I just came from the meeting with the board of directors. Winston Bosch is retiring, and the board has asked me take over for him running the main office. I start in six weeks.”

“Here in Manhattan?” Neal didn’t even try to keep the delight from his voice.

“That’s right,” Sara said. “Apparently, my exceptional recovery rate this past year was one of the deciding factors in my favor.”

Neal smiled, then pulled Sara close and kissed her.

After a moment, he pulled away and began to laugh.

“What is so funny?” Sara asked.

“Just all these years, Peter’s been telling me that nothing good would ever come of my sticky fingers. I can’t wait to tell him he was wrong.”

Sara glared at him and said, “Just promise me that, from now on, you’ll only use those sticky fingers to return stolen items to their rightful owners.”

Neal smiled at her mischievously. “Come on, it’s me!”


End file.
